Chapter 2
Raffi
Raffi was having a difficult morning.
First, that siren striding up toward him, the early stirrings of desire rumbling in Raffi’s body, interrupted by her trip, when all he had worried about was preventing her from an awful fall.
Then, his brother’s shirt had gotten doused in mossy liquid, and in his stupor and fear about ruining an artifact of Sevan’s, he had said the most idiotic words possible to her, this lovely girl who didn’t deserve it.
When she slipped her shoes back on, goddamn, he nearly lost his mind.
He didn’t think he was a foot person, but watching the way she eased the curve of her arches into leather turned his mind molten.
Burgundy nail polish to match her hands.
For some reason, he found himself liking that attention to detail.
He imagined that would be the end of the unfortunate events. A stained shirt—albeit, a sentimental one—the only casualty. But he was wrong.
Of course his father had to see the whole mess, comment on it, and not realize the woman he was with was Armenian and could understand.
The double humiliation of his dad’s put-down and this woman witnessing it had been too much for him. But Raffi knew himself somewhat, and so he retreated indoors to gather his wits, along with the new shirt.
With Ani, he’d shared some truth about how much the winery meant to him, that he was still new to this world, and what did he get for opening up? A frown. Judgment from Ani for being a beginner. Well, she should know something about that.
What he hadn’t expected was for her to fight back so hard. She had claws. She knew about him? Had heard about him? Not good, if they were to work together. Especially because he’d belatedly realized—thanks to her words and defenses—how badly he’d insulted her.
Raffi’s brain had been scrambling for how to patch things up, or at least make things cordial again, but instead he’d been bowled over with a brand-new storm.
Raffi didn’t like surprises. Not since he’d woken up in his parents’ house a decade ago to learn that his older brother had died of an aneurysm at a party the night before.
No surprise had been as horrifying since, not even close, but he did still get the full-body terror, his blood frosting over, whenever there was any sort of shock, however small.
Seeing Kami again, here, at his father’s winery, engaged, wanting to say her vows on his family’s property…it was all too much.
She bounded over to him, her jewelry softly jingling. Kami then threw her arms around Raffi, wrapping him in some rich jasmine scent, and planted a quick peck on his cheek.
“Raffi!” She beamed, light and airy and oblivious as always.
It had been ten years since he was with Kami.
The two of them had dated for a year around the end of their senior year of high school and first semester of college, to both of their families’ great joy.
The Garabedians and the Mardians merging?
Two Armenian houses, similar in dignity, becoming more than friends?
Their parents’ dream. And Raffi, young fool that he was, thought he was in love.
He’d only dated casually and not much, considering that he didn’t finish growing until his senior year of high school.
But then he’d had a bit of a glow-up, and Kami, who had been some version of a goddess all the years he’d known her, was suddenly interested. It was like a dream come true.
They went to different colleges, but he’d drive up to hers on the weekends to see her for a few hours—sweaty-palmed and hopeful, feeling like the luckiest guy alive when she opened her dorm room door wearing one of her lacy dresses and kissed him like he was the only person in the world.
Looking back, he could see it for what it was: high-gloss attraction dressed up as intimacy. Kami had this way about her—charming, magnetic, adding brilliance to every room she entered. It was easy to mistake that glow for closeness.
Kami had dumped him because she said she still had to “find herself.” Then, two weeks later, Sev died, and all Kami did was send a text that read, “I’m so sorry about Sev.
Sending you strength.” After a year of dating!
After declaring their love for each other—a first not only for him but supposedly for her, too.
After their families kept joking-not-joking with them about when the engagement was going to be.
After Raffi seriously considered what type of ring Kami would like.
That perfunctory text was all he got. It confirmed to him that everyone had left and no one would be there for him.
He mostly avoided Kami at family-friend functions, and Kami was always traveling anyway, so he’d managed to escape her presence for several years.
And yet. Kami studied him now with a smile so full of kindness, like she was really, actually happy to see him again, that despite himself, he felt a little bit happy to see her, too.
“Bro,” she crooned. “I haven’t seen you in forever. And now I’m here, like this!” She stuck out her hand for him to inspect the ring. Emerald cut, approximately three carats, he’d estimate, thin band to fit her dainty finger, white gold or platinum. Very tasteful and, for her, modest.
Raffi appraised Grace in a new light, too. Grace, lithe and attractive, seemed slower moving, more thoughtful than the rapid rabbit beating heart of Kami. Probably a good combination, those two. Hopefully Grace knew what she was in for.
Something was happening, though; he felt the energy of it before he had a chance to visually take it in.
Kami’s eyes widened as she took in Ani. And Ani? That girl who had held her own with Raffi moments before, fearlessly sparring with him, now shrunk in Kami’s presence.
“What’re you doing here?” Ani blurted, turning a shade almost as deep as her nail polish.
The statement was almost rude, accusatory, but mostly full of shock.
Kami flicked Grace’s arm. “You silly, you didn’t tell me you were getting Ani to plan the wedding, oh my God!”
Grace’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. This is Ani Ani? Oops. I knew it was a popular Armenian name, but I didn’t connect the dots—are you okay with—?”
What did “Ani Ani” mean? Was this Ani famous? But then why was Grace apologizing? And why were Ani’s shoulders hunched like that?
Inexplicably, Kami’s eyes lit up in response to her fiancée. “Of course I am! No hard feelings, right? Besides, Ani, you’re going to be perfect. You totally get me and my style.”
Ani did not seem to return the excitement. At all.
Raffi gave a polite chuckle. “Not to be all nosy Armenian auntie, but I feel like I’m the only one out of the loop here. Mind filling me in?”
All three women turned to him.
Kami appeared delighted as she said, “We’re exes, duh. Just like us.”
What the—? Kami and Ani were exes, and everyone seemed all right with that? Well, he shouldn’t say everyone. Ani was clearly not okay. Raffi was trying to put together the implications of this when Kami continued.
“Wait, Grace, you knew about me and Raffi, right? Except we barely counted, we were such babies back then. Little eighteen-year-olds.”
Bile rose up Raffi’s throat, and he had to hold it back. “Barely counted.” That’s what she called someone she had told she loved? “We barely counted.” There. The proof he needed that he’d always been correct in writing off Kami. If only he could throw her off his property right now.
Except.
Kami’s family were nearly billionaires. And she, ostensibly, wanted to have her wedding on his property. With her actress fiancée, who could bring publicity to the winery and potentially change everything for ?.
Grudgingly, he decided to tuck away her comment and hear out her, Grace, and Ani.
Kami turned to Grace. “Seriously, babe, you okay with all this?”
Grace gazed at her adoringly. “Of course. We’re adults here. I’m not bothered in the least, as long as everyone else is cool, too.”
Raffi shrugged with a side smile—fine with him. Ani, seeming to realize she needed to respond, shook herself and gave two awkward thumbs-up.
The two brides then kissed—rather affectionately for a business meeting, Raffi might add.
The blood had now drained from Ani’s face, and she turned pale, with a slightly green pallor to her skin. Raffi felt the need to comfort her somehow, even as the barbs from her earlier words still stung. He wanted to take away her pain—tsavt danem in Armenian.
Raffi coughed, then asked, “Should we get the tour started?”
Ani whirred to life. “Great idea,” she said, seemingly relieved, her voice not nearly as bold as it had been when she’d accused Raffi of being an asshole. Which he had been.
Ani walked and began chatting, slowly coming back into herself, growing taller.
He noticed she was still holding the empty matcha latte cup. “I’ll take that,” he said, and regretted how haughty his voice had come out. He’d meant to sound helpful, but he’d ended up condescending. Still, he ducked into the building, tossed it into a trash can, and rejoined this motley crew.
Ani pulled her phone out of her tote bag, turned her back to Raffi—almost pointedly—and began taking photos of the grounds.
In doing so, she had also given Raffi a breathtaking view of her ass, her pencil skirt hugging every last curve.
The desire that overcame him when he first saw her announced itself again, loud and clear.
God help him, he would not fuck the wedding planner.
Not that she’d ever want to, after the awful way he’d acted.
“Such pretty scenery,” Kami cooed.
“I know,” Grace said, admiring Kami in her flowy white dress, with a deep V cut showing a lace bralette underneath.